


One Last Shot

by EchoSilverWolf



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alley Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, Canon Divergence - The Sign of Three, Drunk John Watson, Drunk Sherlock, Drunken Confessions, Fix-It, Jealous John, John takes a chance, John's stag do, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, No Tessa, No rizla, Porn With Plot, Scarf Kink, Virgin Sherlock, no case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 14:46:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12038121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoSilverWolf/pseuds/EchoSilverWolf
Summary: The last stop during the pub crawl for John's stag do. Things transpire and John becomes jealous. He decides to take a chance at the one thing he has always wanted.  Porn with a bit of plot. There is no case, no Tessa and no Rizla.





	One Last Shot

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my friend( and beta), Englandwouldfalljohn(theladyamalthea), who wanted a pwp involving Sherlock's scarf.

It may have been anger, or possibly jealousy, that flashed behind John's eyes as the bartender's hand lingered just a bit too long on Sherlock’s.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the thought that _this is it_. The finality of it all.

This is the last chance before...before there are no more chances. There have been so many. He never took them. Never tried. Now some stranger is touching Sherlock and all he knows is that it should be _him_.   

He stiffens into full soldier stance and marches up next to his flatmate, physically extracting the other man's hand while at the same time fisting one of his own into the scarf around Sherlock's neck and pulling him around roughly, placing himself between the detective and this...this _interloper_.

“He. Is. With. Me.”

He growls through clenched teeth. A warning.  Low and harsh.

Sherlock is completely still and has yet to pull away, his eyes darting from one man to the other,  a mix of complete confusion and...something he has only seen fleetingly a few times before. Something... like...arousal? Oh. Yes. Definitely arousal.

The bartender backs off as John digs his fingers all the tighter into Sherlock's scarf, hauling him away from the bar, eyes locked on Sherlock's, and back walks him toward the rear exit.

All thoughts of weddings or what’s-her-name have been overwritten by copious amounts of alcohol and one glaring thought :

_Last chance. Take it._

Sherlock opens his mouth to speak then shuts it again. Confused and a bit beyond inebriated, he staggers backward, willingly, to wherever John is leading him.

They reach the back door and John kicks it open, maneuvering them out into the cool dark alley behind the bar. Not once loosening his death grip on that damn posh scarf - the only outerwear he had kept on in the sweaty heat of this last club on their little pub crawl.

Sherlock finds his voice, but a small questioning “John?” is all he manages before John is twisting his scarf even tighter and with his free hand uses every bit of strength to shove him hard against the side of the building.

The fire in John's eyes is holding him in place as much as his muscle and he really is unsure what exactly is going on. Only that John is very close and bristling with an emotion unfamiliar to his intoxicated brain. He can't quite figure out what brought this on or why they are outside, or what the hell is going through John's head. Always the mystery that bit.

The low growl is back behind John's words as he presses up into his space. Breath hot between their faces which, to his dulled senses, seem impossibly closer than they have ever been. It sends an involuntary shiver down his spine.

“He. Touched. You.”

“J-John? I'm sorry. I don't understand…”

“I don't _want_ people touching you,” his tone softer but with a very sharp possessive edge to it.

“I don't know why that…ohh.”

John presses in closer, cutting him off. Pushing their bodies flush together from chest to hips and even in his drunken haze he can feel the hard press of John's erection against his thigh as his own answering reaction begins to pool warm and twisting in his abdomen.

“It should be ME touching you,” John's voice in his ear causes his whole body to shudder this time. John's lips are grazing the edge as he speaks. The hand pinning him is now sliding down his ribcage,and  lower, experienced fingers unhooking his belt deftly with one hand. John's mouth slipping down from his ear to nip at the flash of skin above his scarf.

Oh, he has wanted this, this thing that buzzes between them to get to this point, however, with their current state of intoxication and the fact that this is John's stag night, barely a week before the wedding, he doesn't want it like this. Not when he is already on the verge of losing what they already have.

"John... I...mmm.. no, John... you're... going to... Mary..." he stutters embarrassingly as John's mouth is currently busy leaving bruises under his ear and quickly shutting down his ability to think rationally. 

"I'm not getting married, Sherlock."  
  
"You're... not? B-but what about M-Mary, John, why _now_?”

John pulls back and traps him with a look, their eyes locked like so many times before, as the hand wrapped in his scarf tugs him down hard and thin lips collide with his. Rough and soft all at once, a tongue running over his lips, until he catches on and allows it inside. Sliding along his teeth and licking against his. As his own inexperience becomes obvious, he attempts to mimic the same motions. John backs off slightly and smiles, and Sherlock finds himself whimpering at the loss and chasing John's mouth with his own - tongue exploring as he is allowed in, the taste of beer and vodka and _John_ flooding his brain. The hard press and roll of John's hips against him sending new and electric sensations coursing through him.

John breaks the kiss and the hand wrapped in the scarf pulls it free, peppering kisses down his throat and into the dip of two undone buttons on his shirt. Strong hands grip at his hips as John lowers himself to his knees and _oh god_ , his mouth, breathing warm wet air against his pants, mouthing at him through the material...and when did he even undo the button and zip of his trousers??

His head falls back onto the wall with a thud as his cock is freed from its cotton prison and suddenly engulfed in the hot wet heat of his best friend's mouth.

“John. _Oh GOD, John. I've never…”_

John looks up for a moment with a smirk.

“Yeah, I gathered. Now for once in your bloody life, _shut up._ ”

He does as he is ordered as John's tongue rolls and twists around him, pulling gasps and embarrassingly loud guttural sounds from his throat. Each new noise causing John to smile around him even more, as the threatening signs of climax build to a deafening crescendo.

“ _God, Jawwn, I can't, I might…”_

With that he feels the entirety of himself drawn deep into John's mouth, hitting the back of his throat.

It's then he notices the movement of John's other hand, on himself. Little huffs and groans from John's mouth vibrating over his engorged skin, plus the visual of John on his knees, his hand stroking over his own cock, brings him closer to the brink. 

With one last effort he tugs at John's hair and tries to pull him back but John just pushes forward all the harder, grunting as his own orgasm hits, again taking him all the way down and the sensations become too much and he feels himself lose control, his whole body convulsing as he spills down John's throat, who doesn't stop or gag but continues to work him around little moans as he swallows. When he shudders with oversensitivity, John finally releases him, and stands, capturing Sherlock's mouth again in a sensual, lingering kiss.

He can taste himself on John's tongue and it is both filthy and amazing.

In a moment of oxytocin fueled emotion he drops his head to rest in the crook of John's shoulder, feeling a hand come up to clasp his neck as short sandy hair brushes his cheek.

After a few quiet moments he risks speaking.

“John...I...”

“Shhh. I know. Me too.”

“Why _now?”_

 _“_ We were out of chances, Sherlock. I had to know. Had to try. Seeing someone else touching you sealed it for me. I wanted to be that person. The only one touching you.”

“So...you're _not_ marrying her?”

“There is only one person I want to be with, Sherlock, and it's _not_ Mary. She never could take your place. I am yours if you want me.”

“John, _my_ John. I've always wanted you. Only ever you.”  

“Sherlock?”

“Mmm?”

“Let's go _home._ ”

“Yes, John,” Sherlock replies with a wink, “but first, I think we deserve one last shot.”

 

 

 


End file.
